At the University of Alabama, the annual sorority recruitment process—known simply as "rush"—has become a social media spectacle, drawing the attention of millions on platforms like TikTok. Yet this year, the digital spotlight has dimmed, as both university officials and sororities clamp down on online sharing, citing a rising tide of harassment and mental health concerns for those involved.
Kylan Darnell, a 21-year-old senior at Alabama and a former face of the viral RushTok trend, knows this drama all too well. Just a few years ago, Darnell’s peppy, behind-the-scenes videos documenting her journey through sorority recruitment catapulted her to TikTok stardom. Her content, featuring everything from detailed outfit breakdowns to candid reflections on the stress of rush week, resonated with teens nationwide. However, the fame came at a steep personal cost. “This year it was just like a whole different level of hate,” Darnell told the Associated Press. The backlash became so intense that she decided to step back from posting entirely in 2025, prioritizing her mental health over internet fame.
She’s not alone. According to AP News, sororities at Alabama—home to the nation’s largest on-campus Greek system, with nearly 13,000 participants—have enacted a de facto ban against talking to the press or posting on social media during rush week. The move is meant to protect prospective members from online harassment and negative exposure, but it’s also sparked heated debate about transparency, freedom of expression, and the evolving role of social media in college life.
Rush week at Alabama is no small affair. It’s a 10-day marathon of meticulously orchestrated events, each with its own strict dress codes and etiquette. Prospective new members—2,600 of them in 2025—must pay a non-refundable $550 fee just to participate. That’s before factoring in the thousands spent on outfits, makeup, and travel. For those lucky enough to secure a spot, the financial commitment continues: the average cost is $8,400 per semester to live in a sorority house, or $4,100 for those living elsewhere, according to the Alabama Panhellenic Association.
The pressure to stand out is so intense that an entire industry of consultants has sprung up. Some charge as much as $10,000 for months of coaching—sometimes starting as early as high school—on everything from crafting the perfect “social resume” to acing the right conversations. Lorie Stefaneli, a New York-based consultant who flies to Tuscaloosa each year, told the Associated Press that about a third of her clients end up at Alabama. “That’s the reason why a lot of them want to go to Alabama, is because they see it on TikTok,” Stefaneli explained, highlighting the magnetic pull of the RushTok phenomenon.
Rush week itself is a high-stakes game. Many events are invite-only, and at any point, a dreaded phone call can let a recruit know she’s been dropped. The process culminates on bid day, when matches between sororities and new members are finalized. The emotional rollercoaster is real, and the stakes—both personal and financial—are sky-high. “I’m literally a therapist, I’m talking these girls down from a ledge,” Stefaneli admitted, describing the late-night phone calls she fields during rush week.
The rise of RushTok—a niche on TikTok where young women document every step of their recruitment journey—has only intensified the pressure. When in-person recruiting resumed after the pandemic, social media exploded with “outfit of the day” and “get ready with me” videos. These snippets, often filmed in well-lit dorm rooms and featuring designer labels or popular Amazon finds, have made the process look glamorous and accessible. But beneath the surface, the reality is more complicated.
For some, the attention has been lucrative. Morgan Cadenhead, a 20-year-old marketing major who was dropped from her chosen sorority, still managed to cover most of her tuition through social media income after gaining a sizable following on RushTok. Yet the flip side is a harsh one: Cadenhead faced a wave of criticism online for her candid takes on Greek life, leading her to seek work outside the influencer sphere. “Now a lot of girls just come to the university to be influencers,” Darnell observed, noting that the influencer culture can sometimes overshadow the original intent of sisterhood.
Alabama’s Greek system has faced scrutiny before, particularly around issues of diversity and inclusion. Traditionally white sororities only began racially integrating in 2013, after intense public pressure and protests over allegations of discrimination. The university reached an agreement with the Justice Department in 2016 to encourage diversity, but progress has been slow. Today, Black students outside of historically Black Greek organizations make up just 2% of total Greek membership, according to the university’s website.
Despite the new posting bans, some recruits have chosen to ignore the rules. Izzy Darnell, Kylan’s 19-year-old sister, boasts a massive social media following and continues to post about her rush experience, racking up millions of views. She credits her older sister’s experience for teaching her how to handle criticism and navigate the sometimes predatory world of online brand deals. But she’s concerned about others. “I just fear what some girls will do because they think they have to,” Izzy confided, hinting at the pressures to chase fame and money at any cost.
The university’s decision to clamp down on social media comes amid a broader national conversation about the impact of online attention on mental health. According to AP News, numerous incoming freshmen reported being explicitly forbidden from posting about rush or speaking to the media. Darnell noted that the most selective “Old Row” houses will automatically drop prospects who break these rules. The message is clear: the price of online fame might be too high, at least for now.
Still, the allure of RushTok remains. The phenomenon has inspired books, a polarizing documentary, and even a reality TV series. For many young women, the vibrant depictions of female friendship and support are irresistible. “Rush can be fun and help girls build confidence, but it’s also an emotional rollercoaster,” Stefaneli said. And while the rules may shift, the fascination with the ritual endures—on and off the screen.
As the 2025 rush season draws to a close, the University of Alabama finds itself at the crossroads of tradition and technology, wrestling with the challenges and opportunities of a new digital age. For now, the message from campus is unmistakable: sometimes, the best stories are the ones that stay offline.